2004-12-30
The Watch Girl Of The Beating Heart
I kneel in the sun drenched grass with my fingers busily flitting through the motions of folding fragile scraps of paper into pretty art. Sometimes I exchange one occupation for another, and turn to ink and paper. In turn, sometimes I just lie on my back in the cold, crisp winter air, absorbing the piercing blue of the sky above me.
I'm watching and waiting. And waiting and watching. With hungry eyes and parted lips. With quivering fingers and a tremorous heart.